


Kissing Destiny Full on the Lips

by GwenTheTribble



Series: your name was with me before my own [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aromantic, Asexuality, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Blackcest, Character Study, Christian Character, Christianity, Cousin Incest, Fred Lives, Gender Presentation, Hindu Character, Hinduism, Incest, India, Indian!Harry, Multi, Nonverbal Communication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Rare Pairings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, charlie is asexual aromantic genderqueer, makeup is gender neutral, probably an unhealthy relationship, the canon divergence is not a big deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenTheTribble/pseuds/GwenTheTribble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wixen world regards Soulmates as a special kind of magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Little Molly Prewett, with her floof of red hair and her twin big brothers, was born in a little manor, with ivy growing over most of it and blocky writing telling her that her soulmate was the littlest Weasley boy, Arthur.   The parents nod and exchange letters of acknowledgment, but they decide to let the infants meet in their own time.

                Little Molly Prewett, with her bright brown eyes and her Mother’s trunk clutched in her eleven year old hands, got on the Hogwarts Express and sat in a compartment with three other little terrified first years.  

                Little Molly Prewett, with a hat dropped over her eyes, and it didn’t take more than a second before it’s shouting Gryffindor and she knew what it was going to be her whole life.   She watched the boy from the long table, the boy, who the magic in her blood and her spine tell her is her destiny, got sorted with her.  Her big eleven year old lion heart, stuffed into her little eleven year old body, does a flip over this.  The other half of her soul is brave too.

Little Molly Prewett, with her big twin brothers and her broom in her third year hands, raced through the air and all three crow in laughter, red hair flying.   Little Molly Prewett, who’s nearly as big as she’s ever going to get, with her brothers, who are bigger than she is and ruffle her hair every opportunity they get.   

Little Molly Prewett, bumping shoulders with tall skinny Arthur Weasley at a quidditch game.  She knocks the glasses of his face and the breath out of his lungs, because Arthur’s been watching little Molly Prewett, who’s the biggest thing in his eyes.   Curious Arthur Weasley who knew that his destined was going to be in his year, who read muggle books about what they thought about those simple words written on his back.  

Curious Arthur Weasley, born in a hospital, and brought home to the burrow and three older brothers, who all crowd around to look at him. 

Curious Arthur Weasley, who gave his mother his fair share of grey hair, running away to the muggle towns nearby, who wondered if that little girl that he has seen holding her mother’s hand will like the non-magic magical things just as much as he does.   He decided that she doesn’t have to, as long as she listens to him when he talks for hours about them.  

They fall in love over cups of butter beer, over quidditch, over bravery.  They fall in love to Celestina Warbeck.  They fall in love at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.  They get married the summer after Hogwarts, in a little chapel, with their five red headed big brothers.  

His parents die and his brothers move out, and the littlest brother with his little wife get the house, because they’re the only ones who want it.  They have a little baby boy at the beginning of a big, big, war.   Little Molly Prewett Weasley, with her red hair and her twin big brothers, watches them become Order members, and Little Molly Prewett Weasley, with her brown eyes (just like theirs) watches her brothers go to fight.  Little Molly Prewett Weasley, youngest of three, hears that she is now one while holding Percy on her hip and twins in her belly.

The soulmate sweethearts, Little and Curious, with their big lion hearts open their home to vigilantes and make shift soldiers, bring home six more babies and take one to Hogwarts, they raise their sons in terror and their daughter in joyous peace.  They’re gonna grow old together in that crooked odd house, gonna die wearing the sweaters that she knits them, Little and Curious together.


	2. Chapter 2

                Bellatrix was seven years old when her soulmate was born.   The explosive girl had been born with her family name on her back, and it was not uncommon, not in this family, and if her parents were unhappy about it, it was only because they would have preferred for her to make some sort of alliance with another family.  Bellatrix grew up with diamond eyes and when they told her that she had a baby cousin for a mate and put him in her arms she saw that he had those same eyes.   Andromeda had the same eyes, they shared them with their father, but Bella knew that those eyes were different from their eyes.   Bella and baby Sirius had eyes that were meant for watching things burn, she just knew it.  

                The hat told her that she had the soul of a Gryffindor, but knew that she was meant for greatness.   Bella rose to her full eleven year old height when they plucked the hat off her head.  Her wild eyes stared straight ahead when she walked to the Slytherin table, where she was already royalty.  The hat agreed.   Bella had a destiny made of sharp teeth and heirlooms and the smell of smoke.  She was made for this. 

                Bella was eighteen when her soulmate began school, eighteen when she found her Lord, eighteen when her mother wrote her and tells her that the heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was a Gryffindor.  She could almost hear the ice in her mother’s words, with her Rosier scorn.   She wondered if the hat told him he had the soul of a Slytherin. 

                It did.  But Sirius knew he’d rather be brave than cunning, knew he was not meant for that set of robes.  Sirius has got a plan, see.   He’s going to be big and strong and good, and he’ll marry Bella and he’ll make her happy, and he’ll make sure her parents aren’t there to be cruel.   He’s going to rescue his family, see.  He’s going to make it so that Andromeda can marry whoever it is on her spine, the other half of her soul, no matter how dirty their blood is.   There will be no more ‘blood traitors’ or burned off parts on a tapestry.  Sirius is eleven but he’s got friends already, a pureblood and two half-bloods and he’s going to change things.  Sirius is ambitious.  He prefers to call it daring.

                Bella, standing on a balcony, talked to her cousin/soulmate/best friend/something else.   She was twenty and beautiful and he was twelve and charming.  She is wondering if the mark will call her to His side, and if she loves Him more than Sirius.  She wondered if she was capable of it.   

                Their spines tingled, and it angered her.   She was destined for something more than this, and Bella’s always been all or nothing, and she can’t do either.   She was tied to Sirius, but she couldn’t stay with him.  The stars may all be in the sky, but they don’t touch.

                   Sirius is twelve when he realizes that he could save no one.  It was too late for Andromeda, she had run away.  Bella was… angry.

                They fought the night he left.  He was sixteen, arrogant but certain.  He couldn’t stay here, in the shadows and the foulness any longer.  She was twenty three, biting and cruel in her anger and fear that Sirius was leaving her. 

                She shrieked that he was a blood traitor coward and he screamed that she was a careless bitch and they shouted for hours and said the worst things they could think of, and they tore open wounds that they had kissed better for each other.  And when they kissed it was as gentle as it ever could have been.  Meaning; when they tasted blood, they are surprised.

                He left and she followed her Lord, and she wanted nothing more than to love Him like she loved him.  God she hated him.  Where was he?  It didn’t matter.  Her soulmate was a black spot on a piece of cloth and that was the end of it.   Her left index finger had a ring on it from a boy who didn’t have a soulmate, but did have the right blood and political beliefs. 

                Bella holds her wand in her clenched hand.

                Sirius holds his best friends lives in his shaking hands.

                This is their destiny.  Some soulmates can only touch briefly. 


	3. Chapter 3

                Andromeda Black was the least favorite daughter.   Bellatrix, beautiful Bella may have been older than her cousin mate but at least his blood was right.  Besides, Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion were cousins.  Narcissa, little baby Cissy was mated to the Malfoy boy, and if he was lower than her station, that was only because the Blacks were as high as it got.  Nobody else could hope to compete.   But Andromeda, the chained princess, had the name of a mudblood or a half-breed or worst of all, a muggle.   Tedd Tonks, in quirking black script, stained her back, just as his blood was stained. 

                Andromeda grew up shunned in private and ignored in public.  Of course, all Black children were ignored until they could do something useful.   Her parents acted as though she had the name of a pureblood boy on her back and went about quietly arranging a marriage with the Lestrange boy.   Plenty of good purebloods had the names of the animals on their backs.  

                Her sisters and cousins never treated her any different, and maybe that was why she never could bring herself to hate a single one.  Not the murderous mad Bellatrix Lestrange or the backstabbing traitor Sirius Black or the blood purist Narcissa Malfoy or the death eater coward Regulus Black.  She never knew them.  She only ever knew fierce Bella and rebellious Sirius and girlish Cissy and kind Regulus, who loved a little girl when they could have been cruel.  

                The hat dropped over her eyes, covering her from Bella’s searing gaze, and told her that ‘you ought to be a Ravenclaw with brains like those, but with your knack for lying and the way you value tradition, better make you a Slytherin’.  Andromeda is relieved and happy.  Her common room might have been a snake pit, but she knew to watch for poison. 

                Andromeda went to the library and laughed at things her sister said and wrote home to baby Cissy and absolutely did not look for Him.  Even if he was here, she could not speak to him. 

Her spine tingles in the library and she starts checking the books out and taking them back to the common room.  It didn’t matter how much their backbones called out to each other.   It could not be.  She never allowed herself to think of him.

Tedd Tonks was an only child.   His parents wrinkled their foreheads at their son’s soulmate, but for the most part didn’t comment on her mythological name.  It was only the first odd thing in a long string of odd things that seem to have something to do with their son.  Once, he turned himself bright blue.  Another time he had a tantrum and every flower in the garden died.  But the letter that came when he was eleven really took the cake.  Magic was real and their little boy was a wizard. 

                Tedd was sorted into Ravenclaw, and all he knew of them was that they valued being clever and creative, and that sounded like him.  The hat also told him he was brave, and whispered that he would need it.  He didn’t understand the warning when it was given, but he would.

                He looked for his mate all over, checked every house, before a girl with dark hair and flashing grey eyes cornered him one day.   She was wearing Slytherin robes and looked to be a few years older than him, and when she held her wand to his throat and said she would use it, he believed her.  The beautiful girl told him that her sister might be his mate, but scum like him didn’t get to touch people like them.  He was starting to understand what the hat said.

                His neck cracked when he heard the hat call Her name.   There she was.  There she was.  Her sister was burning holes in his head but there she was.  The hat called Slytherin.  There she went.   She looked just like her sister and not at all like the girl he had grown up picturing.  She was so much better.

                She was everywhere.  She was nowhere to be found.   When his spine tingled in the hallway he forgot what he was saying.  When they were in herbology, he scanned the group for her, but only ever seemed to get flashes.  She was hiding from him.

                She did her best to stay away from him.  Her parents had considered not sending her to Hogwarts, not when Bella had written them that the _boy_ was there, but The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had been sending their children to Hogwarts since there was a Hogwarts.   The Blacks brought themselves to ruin over tradition. 

                She tries to hide from him she really does, but her eleven year old soul called out to him, and she was losing her mind over staying away from the mudblood. 

                (Years from now, when she is begging for her sisters to understand, she will tell them that she _tried_.)

                They spend five years breathless.  He is always chasing her.  She is always hiding.   Her parents whisper their poisons in her ears and she begins to understand that poison is still poison, even if it’s been dripped into your mouth since cradle, so that it filled you up and falls from your own mouth. 

                The astronomy tower.  She is too consumed with the stars, greeting them like old friends to notice the way her skin prickles.   When she does, it is too late.   He is there. She is there.

                “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” She spits at him, and it burns to hear her voice.

                Because we’re mates.  Mates always meet.  Always.  Even if only for an hour.”  He told her, and it is a clever ploy to get her to hesitate.   He caught her wrist and she felt as though she is on fire, the words on her back screaming that this is who she’s meant for. 

                “If someone see’s you touching me, my sister will kill you.”  She said, part threat part warning. 

                “I know.” 

                “I’m practically betrothed.”

                “Why?”  He asked, but doesn’t release her wrist.

                “Because you’re a mudblood of course!” Was the boy stupid?

                His nostrils flare, but still he doesn’t let go.  His eyes were blue. 

                “So you’re saying it’s forbidden?” He asked curiously.

                “Yes.  Which is why you have to let me go.”  Bellatrix would come looking.

                “By society? Or just your family?”  And he had let go but she couldn’t make her feet move.

                “My family is society.” She told him, neck arched like she’d been taught.

                “So me and you, a mudblood and a pureblood, are forbidden from being mates?” he grinned when he questioned her.

                “That’s what I just said!” She huffed, not knowing that she looked like a goddess.

                “Oh Dromeda.  That just makes it more fun.”  He laughed. 

 

                When she runs she burns herself off the tapestry, and holds his hand when she meets him outside. 


	4. Chapter 4

Lucius Malfoy, only child of Abraxas and Arabella Malfoy, and sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, was born blessed.  Money, pureblood, good looks, and the perfect soulmate.  Narcissa Black.  Their parents signed contracts and made magically bound oaths.  Their children would marry when they were of age.

He saw her often.  White hair and blue eyes, an icy beauty.  Her sisters were all fire, but Narcissa burned cold, and Lucius was in love with her by the time he was eight. 

They went to Hogwarts in succeeding years, and people whispered that the soulmates looked like twins. 

The hat said to him; _loyalty to tradition is all well and good, but don’t be afraid to forge your own path,_ Before it shouted Slytherin. 

The hat named her a snake and told her; _Survival is your skill.  I think I could find you at the end of the world._

The hat tells everyone something they need, even if it’s just about themselves. 

They are The Couple, before they are a couple.  Both so pale and pure, with their money and connections.  They are easy together.  They talk all the time when they are alone, about what they are going to do and how they are going to safe guard their traditions and how they will raise their children.  The contracts sworn by their parents are just as binding as the tingling words on their backs. 

Neither would want someone else anyway. 

They have it all planned out by the time Lucius graduates.  He was to assume his place as the Malfoy patriarch, taking the reins from his ailing mother.  With her input the businesses and investments would continue to flourish.  In December she would take the antidote to the birth control potion. They would meet during every Hogsmeade weekend to discuss their next move. Hopefully she would have a swelling belly by the time they married in July.  Then they would raise their children and eventually take the Black’s place as the next great pureblood family.  Cunning Lucius and Narcissa saw that Sirius wouldn’t stay, and with only Regulus to continue the line, they were doomed.

 It does not go like that.  Lucius’s father agreed with a wizard and joined his cause, and has his son take the mark with him.  They will bring the new world order and put the scum in their place.  Narcissa isn’t sure she believes that they deserve to die or that they’re animals, not when beautiful smart Andromeda could love one, but the hat was right.  Narcissa would do what was best for Narcissa. 

They decide between themselves that Lucius will take the mark and she will be supportive.  This is their new plan; marry, swear loyalty to their new lord, smash the muggles and squibs and mudbloods down, fill the manor with children, become something like gods.  

 It was possible that their home would never be filled with white haired babies.   She took her potions and bought amulets, her mother sent her a bedspread covered in powerful runes.  One baby came, after eight years of marriage.  They named him Draco and she held him to her breast fiercely, and suddenly she realized that it is possible that they could fail. 

She and Lucius whisper in the dead of night, baby on her breast.  They make new plans, make safeguards.  They never really thought that they would have to use them. 

When their defeat comes at the hands of a boy the same age as her son, they plead Imperius.  They have no loyalty to anyone but themselves.  Narcissa watched her house fall to ruin, and she always assumed it would be gradual, something easy and expected. 

She remembered the way her sister had screamed the night her mate had left, the way she howled like the crazed animal she was.  They told her that her sister howled the same way now, and Sirius joined her with his own.  Regulus was a coward, who didn’t know that you simply have to hold on, once you’ve sold your soul.   Andromeda had run away with the mudblood, and she had heard that there was a child, one with pink hair. 

They were still planning, watching their boy grow.  The safeguards were still in place, because their hearts were still gripped with fear. 

Their backs tingled and it didn’t matter. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tu sais qui: you know who  
> le grand tueur: the great killer  
> la plus sombre des sorciers: the darkest of wizards  
> Tant pis pour eux: too bad for them  
> se il vous plaît, quelqu'un, qu'est-il arrivé?: please, someone, whats happened?  
> Le vol de mort: the flight of death

Bill Weasley was born in a chilly November, the beginnings of war all around him.  On his back it says Fleur Isabelle Delacour, and his Aunt Muriel sniffed and checked the ministry records and said that the girl was probably French. 

                Bill grows up quickly, fear nipping at his father’s heals and settling at the base of his mother’s spine.  He is barely allowed to play outside and he is to look out for Charlie.  Bill is to look out for Charlie, two years younger than him, and Charlie is to look after Percy when he is born, but Bill’s eldest.  He looks out for the both of them. 

                England feels cold and steeped in dread and sadness, the dementors given free reign.  Bill dreams of someplace warm where he can save the day. 

                More siblings come, and Mum tells him he’s such a good boy, taking care of his brothers.  Charlie is seven and likes dragons and doesn’t have a soulmate, just wants to climb trees and play pirates with Bill.  Percy’s three, mischievous and quietly rebellious, the kind that could be gotten away with.  He asks Bill to read him his soulmates name, asks about the letters and copies them out on a sheet of paper, half teaches himself to read.  The twins are babies and Bill takes care of them, but they’re really Percy’s, and Bill’s fine with that. 

                He twitches and shivers, the countryside’s chill in his bones, wraps himself up in the sweaters his mum knits.  The letter comes, fancy parchment his family can’t ever afford and an emerald green seal.   His mum cries at the train station, his brothers at her side and his sister in her arms, his dad holding the twins hands and telling her that it was safe now, the war was over.

                Bill hardly knew what that meant.  The war over?  How could it be? Everyone was suddenly so reckless, didn’t they know it wasn’t safe to let the twins be play quidditch by themselves, completely vulnerable to attack?  The country seemed lighter and happier, the chill seeming to thaw, but Bill feared he would never get it out of his bones.

                 Gryffindor.  That’s what the hat shouted.  _The eldest Weasley boy. You’re smart, I’ll give you that. I know where to put you.  You must remember that there’s more to life than hiding and protecting._ The hat instructs him, and my, does Bill learn. 

                Friends are made, wearing red and gold, blue and bronze.  Quidditch is just a hobby, a childhood of his mum calling him back inside meaning that he couldn’t ever develop much skill. 

He wonders if the girls life has been as twisted by you know who as much as his had.

                Fleur was four _when tu sais qui_ , _le grand tueur_ , _la plus sombre des sorciers_ and his followers fell.  They are only ever something distant to her, something to be discussed in political debates and in classrooms, used as examples when speaking of foreign threats and present day discrimination. 

Fleur is twelve when she finally understands that those people who she had never given a second thought would have killed her, killed Gabrielle and her parents, because they didn’t like that her grandmother, something harshly beautiful that they could never understand, had been mates with a human.  They did not like that they had babies.  They did not like that her charming mother shared a soul with her cheerful father.  They did not like that Fleur or sweet little Gabrielle existed.  Most likely, they did not like that Fleur was mated with William Arthur Weasley.

                _Tant pis pour eux._

                Even in the halls of Beauxbatons, they knew the name of their Savior.  ‘Arry Potter.  They said a lot of things about him.  

                Fleur catches the eyes of wizards and witches and wixens, her beauty making them forget that they have no future at all with each other.  She accepts the gifts they bring her, allows some to take her out to dinners they probably can’t afford, kisses more than several of the prettiest and most giving of those clamoring for her attentions. 

                They are always begging for just a drop of her.  She knows she is beautiful.  Boys tell her.  Girls tell her.  People stop her on the streets to tell her.  It isn’t something that goes to her head.  It is just a fact.  She is beautiful. 

                She is also dangerous.  She forces her wand through complicated spells, forces it to hear her nonverbal commands.  When her suitors think that because she has taken the flowers they send that means she is willing to speak with them, means she is willing to dance with them, means she is willing to gift her sweet singing, she burns them with the sparks shot from her hands. 

                Gabrielle joins her at school, and Fleur is joyous to have her best friend at her side again. 

Fleur’s always been passionate, always loved till it left a bruise when she let go.  

                _A comfortable stay at Hogwarts._ She cannot help but laugh derisively.  She wasn’t here to enjoy herself.  She was here to compete.  At the feast, their first night at Hogwarts, she decides to see who their savior was.  She approaches their table, and asks if they’ve finished with the bouillabaisse.  He is just a little boy.  She expected different, but it makes sense.  He’s only fourteen.

The cup chooses her and she can feel her mixed blood sing through her veins; she is the most worthy. 

Bill Weasley wakes up on the second of November to a Daily Prophet and three notes from his mum, all increasing in urgency.  His mate _was_ French.  Fleur Isabelle Delacour.  She was at Hogwarts.  She was her school’s champion.  He didn’t know her, but he felt a swell of pride. 

When the redheaded boy asks her to go to the ball with him, she laughs.  Of course she laughs.  She had asked after him, always seeing him at the side of ‘Arry Potter.  Ron Weasley she was told.  Weasley.  Her mates little brother, asking her to the ball in the middle of a crowded corridor.  Funny, no?  Her laugh was perhaps cruel, in hindsight. 

Gabrielle is at the bottom of that lake.  Gabrielle.  Her best friend, her little sister, her bruising love.  She is at the shore and no one will let her go back, and she has never wished for the full force of her Grandmother’s powers as much as then.  She wants to open her mouth and let her terribly lovely song pour from it, wants to call the merpeople to the top and beg them to release her, please, don’t you know that she is your kin?  Can’t you feel it in your scales?  The water is my element just as it is yours, please give her back!

The little boy brings her back to her.  Her bones and her heart tell her that this is a debt she cannot repay. 

Before the third task they all meet their families, and this is the first time they see each other.  Their spines tingle as they speak with their people, both glancing over.  She doesn’t want to speak with him yet.  Oh, but isn’t he handsome?  A fang earring and a red pony tail.

It was possible that seeing him threw her off.  The maze is suffocating and she is trying to push him out of her thoughts when she hears Krum behind her, and feels the terrible lethargy just before she falls. 

When she wakes up, everyone is half hysterical.  What’s happened?  _se il vous plaît, quelqu'un, qu'est-il arrivé?_

His mum is frantic.  What’s happened?  Where’s Harry?  Is Harry alright?  His mate is in the medical tent, she is alright, what’s happened?

They return to Beauxbatons the day after the feast, and he has hardly seen her and she has hardly seen him.  Cedric Diggory, the handsome Hogwarts Champion, was dead.  Murdered by _Le vol de mort._ This is what Dumbledore tells them.  This is what ‘Arry tells them.  This is what she believes.  ‘Arry saved Gabrielle. 

They return to their lives, their heads full to the brim with worry and _she was there, he was there, I could write to her, he must live there, I don’t know what to say, I have to get back!_

She takes a part time job at Gringotts.  For her English, of course.  He gets a desk job in London.  For the order, of course.  A year later, they are engaged.

His mother does not like her.  His sister does not like her.  They don’t bring it up.  No one dares.   Even if Mrs. Weasley doesn’t like her, she would never attempt to keep a met pair away. 

Fleur can tell though.  She’s spent her life being given suspicious glances and cold shoulders from other women.  His mother doesn’t like that she’s dated people other than Bill, they don’t like her clothes, don’t like her bluntness, don’t like the way she speaks. 

_Tant pis pour eux._

Bill was one of the order members patrolling Hogwarts during his absence.  It feels like hallowed ground.  It feels like the last truly safe place on Earth. Fenrir Greyback is on him and drags his claws across his face and Bill’s already down, could hardly shout a hex.

Fleur feels her breath catch in her throat when she hears that Bill is hurt, and it doesn’t come loose until she sees him.  

“Of course, it doesn’t matter how he looks…. It’s not r-really important… but he was a very handsome little b-boy… Always very handsome… And he had a soulmate! He was going to be married!” his mother wailed. 

Fleur has had people presuming things about her all her life, but she will not take this.  “And what do you mean by zat?”  Her voice is loud, nothing musical about it, but she can feel her grandmothers inherited magic pulsing.  “What do you mean ‘’e was _going_ to be married’ ‘’e _‘ad_ a soulmate’? Neizer of us is dead!” 

His mother tries to make it sound better than what it clearly was. 

“You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?” she demanded, heritage surging through her.  “You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?”

The older woman tries again, stumbling over an explanation. 

“Because ‘e will!” She drew herself up, throwing her long hair back.  “It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!”

“Well yes, I’m sure, but I thought perhaps-given how- how he-“

“You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or perhaps, you hoped?  Did ‘e get my name ripped from his back?  ‘As his been cursed off of me?” She demanded, nostrils flaring.  “What do I care how ‘e looks?  I am good looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my soulmate is brave! And I shall do that!”  She seized the ointment from his mothers hands.  That is the end of that.  They even help another pair.

When they get married they are beaming, and people are dancing, and the war is at their doorstep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie Weasley, the second son, has no name printed on his back. His mother weeps when he is born, and his father shudders. Only people who live long enough to meet their soulmate get one in the first place. They don’t care if he never marries or gives them a single grandbaby, but in these days, a name on your baby’s back is very reassuring. The only reassurance, really. 

Molly fears for her little boy, who is both brave and kind hearted, just the kind of child to be lured into a werewolf’s den if he was told the wolf was injured. She loves her children, and doesn’t want the war to make them hard, but the war isn’t ending and softness gets people killed. That doesn’t mean she can bring herself to stop him from bringing home every hurt kitten and gnome that crosses his path. She lets her second son be soft, though it makes her heart tremble. 

He grows up chasing after Bill, stockier than his lean big brother. Sometimes he wears a dress, but mostly he wears sturdy overalls. Charlie gets a baby brother when he is five and told that he must be his protector, and Charlie agrees. Big brothers have an awfully big responsibility. More siblings arrive, all with markings on their backs that Charlie doesn’t have, and he’s the only one in their whole family without a mate or mates. 

He rides in the same compartment as Bill and a girl who can turn her hair different colors. The hat barely settles on his head before declaring him a lion. 

Quidditch is exciting and flying is fantastic. Charlie takes the classes he needs, excels in what he needs, keeps his nose clean and waits. He doesn’t have a mate. His life starts when he wants it too. 

No one really gets the dragon thing. Sure kids all think they’re cool when they’re little, but a teenager who wants to not just study them but work with them is odd to see. Dragon handling is hard work for poor pay. 

He doesn’t really get why anyone would think they aren’t beautiful, but then again he doesn’t really get like half of human interaction. What was the big deal about dating and soulmates? 

Tonks shows him how to do makeup and tells him that the boy she’s got on her back has the most ridiculous name on the planet. Makeup is fun to do, and much more practical than dresses. Charlie takes to doing an eyeliner charm every morning and no one says a thing. Who would dare, with Tonks at his side and the Gryffindor quidditch team at his back and Percy a ruthless teacher’s pet?

He takes off right after graduation, his Mum crying over it and his Dad telling him to write often. Charlie was hardly the first Weasley to leave home and go far.

The dragons are wonderful and he measures his labor in shiny scars and bite marks that he won’t tell his mother about. 

He stays as long as he can, but England can’t contain the war for long and he goes home when his Dad’s injured. 

Charlie grew up in a world at war and now it seems that their supposed peace was only a brief reprise, like the eye of the storm. His big brother’s got scars on his face that Charlie couldn’t stop and Percy is gone, an ambitious traitor that Charlie was supposed to be looking out for. The twins have each other but they’re light hearted and unforgettably not on the winning side in and Charlie worries for them. Ron’s right at the center and he doesn’t have a prophesy or a stunning intellect to keep him safe, just his heart and his will. Ginny’s made herself into a soldier, a lieutenant waiting for the battlefield to make itself known. She’d been waiting for that fight since she was eleven.

Charlie plants his feet firmly and holds on.


	7. Chapter 7

Fred comes first. George is holding onto his twin’s foot. Their mum likes to say that she should have known they would be trouble, not allowing her even a moments rest between their births like that. They transform their family of five to a family of seven, make them noticeable, make budgets tighter and stress lines on their mum’s face. She had seven children, they would have come anyway.

                Fred has a Darcy Lewis on his back, written slightly messily. None of the magic Lewis families in the UK have a child named Darcy, so they assume they’re a muggleborn. That they could be American, or muggle, doesn’t even occur to them. George has Angelina Johnson. A halfblood from Finchley, a little older then George, with an older brother. Molly and Arthur decide that they’ll let the children meet in their own time.

                Fred walks first, but George is the one who manages more than baby babble. It doesn’t really matter, because they both do the same as the other within the hour. These boys are twins. Their hair ruffles the same way, their eyes gleam with the same mischief.   They grow at the same rate. They are always, always, together. Their hearts beat at the same time. Sure, maybe Fred is a little rasher, maybe a little meaner, and George is a bit more of a planner, but all in all, they’re twins. The only thing that separates them is the names on their backs.

                Percy sets up their first prank. They’re three, and he’s five, and the war is over. Harry Potter, a wee lad from Godric’s Hallow, has saved them all. Their mum cries sometimes, over nothing, just pictures of her and some boys. The boys want to cheer her up, and Percy knows just the thing. Mum screams when the water balloons hit her and dad, and the boys laugh themselves sick.

                Charlie and Percy write home when Angelina Johnson is sorted Gryffindor. Percy says she’s got some skill in charms from what he’s heard and seems to really like big jewelry, and Charlie says she wants to try out for the quidditch team and is pretty enough. Molly hands these letters to George, but doesn’t protest when he and Fred read them together. There is still no sign of Darcy Lewis, not in any of the pureblood families or the halfbloods, and Aunt Muriel is ready to start combing the American’s records.

                When it comes time for Hogwarts, the main worry is the wands. Charlie’s got uncle Billius’s old wand, and is saving up to get his own. Bill, as eldest, got his very own. George got a new wand. Fred got Percy’s old one, which used to be great uncle Harfang’s. Their family was full of hand me downs and heirlooms, their middle names, their hair, the clothes they wore, the house they lived in. Gryffindor is both a hand-me-down and a perfect fit, an heirloom just for them.  

                Percy, that goody-two-shoes with a wand so far up his arse that red sparks come out of his mouth when he’s lecturing them, claps louder than anyone when they’re sorted. Angelina Johnson, twelve and wearing big chunky turquoise necklace and taller than them, than him, walks right up to him that night in the common room.   Tells him they need to talk. She stares right at George. She can tell them apart.

                Angelina Johnson had George Weasley written carelessly down her back. Her Witch mother knows of them, and tells her they’re all blood traitors, brave from the roots of their ginger hair to their second hand shoes. Good. She didn’t want a mate who got in her way. Angelina grows up on toy brooms and reenacting pirate battles with a sea breeze charmed into her own backyard. She grows fiercer, picking fights with the boys who pick on her big brother. It’s not his fault he ain’t so into talking. When she’s sorted Gryffindor, she sits next to her red and gold big brother.

                That soulmate of her’s isn’t here yet but she sees his older brother looking at her. The elder one, not the snooty quiet one. She steals the older girl’s brooms and runs outside to practice whenever she can. If George isn’t here yet, then fine. She doesn’t have to wait for anyone.

                He’s sorted Gryffindor. Her back tingles with anticipation.   So when she asks him to talk, she wonders if he understood that words weren’t her favorite, that she didn’t need them, but she used them when it was the most direct.

                Maybe he didn’t. Fine. He would learn.

                “We’re mates, you and me.” She told him, like he didn’t know. She was taller than him. Her spine tingling was very distracting.

                “Yeah, What about it?” George asked. Good. No beating around the bush. Angelina didn’t like subtleties or metaphors or anything that people did to hide what they were saying but still say it.

                “What do you wanna do about it? You gonna date anyone?” She asked. She just wanted to know what was expected of her. She was alright with breaking rules, she just wanted to know them first.

                “No!” He seemed stricken at the idea of dating. Angelina rolled her eyes. He was, like, eleven. “No I don’t wanta date anyone. Why? Do you?”

                “I dunno. Do you care if I do?”

                “No. I don’t think so. Do whatever you want.” He choked.

                “Then I guess you can do whatever you want.” She said, glad to have this out of the way.

                Fred waited for his twin to get back from wherever he was talking to his mate. George and a mate! Fred couldn’t help but wonder where his was. He and George had always been on the same track, but now his twin had met his mate, was talking to her, and Fred didn’t even know where his was. He wondered if they were muggle, and he’d have to wait to be done with school before had a chance at finding them.

                Darcy Lewis believed in magic. She believed that magic was in her spine, in her pancakes, in her little red whistle. It was in the name Fred Weasley, written carelessly, eleven letters. Magic was magic, even if other people had different words for it. So, Darcy left honey for the fairies in her Georgian backyard to eat, she left it right on the flowers and didn’t go back to check if it was gone. Her parents don’t ever tell her their truth. Besides, there was magic in the world. Their spines proved it.

She’s an only child, a lonely child. So the fairies are her smallest friends and the tree’s that come alive at night and dance are her biggest friends. She tosses her ball down a drain edge pipe so the sewer monster has something to play with. She sets up her stuffed animals and negotiates their arguments. As she grows up, her world fills with more magic, not less. Her Taser, a fourteenth birthday gift, is magic, BBC news, her favorite show after the real housewives, is magic. Kissing is all kinds of magic.

Falling in love must be a type of magic, George decides. Angelina Johnson is brash and bold and straight up about what she wants and what she thinks. It was fourth year, and something was petrifying muggleborns. Not to be a cliché, because Fred and George Weasley were unprecedented, 100% original, but George didn’t need some heir of Slytherin to be petrified. He just needed to see Angelina Johnson haul off and beat a guy who asked what was wrong with her brother, that he didn’t talk, right in front of them. She made him starry eyed, in a different way than the guy she knocked out, who was seeing stars. That guy got beetles in his soup for the rest of his time at Hogwarts.

Angelina Johnson feels giddy when she sees George, she feels her heart pumping and she’s breathing fast and her stomach always plummets straight to the dungeon. It was her sixth year, Caleb had graduated and had gotten a job at Gringotts. He was really good at quidditch. He was really funny. He was really nice. Angelina went into the infirmary three times in a month because all her symptoms lined up with dragon pox. Madame Pomfrey finally tells her to come back unless she had a complaint that wasn’t love.

Love. Angelina reviewed her symptoms. She made new necklaces, extra heavy. She thought it over. George Weasley never stopped putting beetles in that boy’s soup. Ok. She loved him. Ok. It would have happened eventually. So they needed to talk again.

She pulled him away to a closet while everyone’s sleeping in the great hall.

“We’re mates, you and me.” She told him again, her spine tingling and stomach several floors below her.

“Yeah, what about it.” His heart pattered all of the place.

“Do you wanna date anyone?” She asked.

“I’d like to date you.” He said, all in one breath.

“Alright then.” She agreed.

“Right. Ok. Astronomy tower. Tomorrow night. At eight.” He said, brash as ever.

“Eight.” She agreed, slipping out if the closet and returning to where she was sleeping with Alicia.

George hurried back to tell Fred what had happened. Fred was happy for his twin, he really was. It’s just, where was Darcy Lewis?

Darcy Lewis had left Georgia. Leaving was also magic. She was in her first year of college, majoring in political science. She was going to kick ass one day. Right now she was attending political rallies, honking to support the troops and protesting their involvement in certain regions. She had her first college girlfriend. Love was magic! So was the heartbreak of having your first college girlfriend meet her match after six months, Darcy supposed. Maybe it was time to leave again? Maybe not yet, but Darcy would start looking at study abroad options.

Angelina had to consider her future, they said. But she didn’t know what she wanted to do! That’s what she told Professor McGonagall, who fixed her with one of those looks. “What are your interests? Perhaps an internship?”

“I like quidditch, but I’m not good enough to go pro. I’m not good with words, but I’m a rubbish drawer. Oh! I like makin’ jewelry.” She finally came up with.

“Jewelry.” The professor’s eyes swept over her matching necklace and bracelets before settling on the papers in front of her. “There is a school of fashion in America, if you’re interested. An internship with metal working goblins. Madame Malkin may be willing to apprentice you… She doesn’t just do robes… Or she may know someone who would be willing to help you.”

                Darcy finds something to do in January. New Mexico sounds nice considering how cold it is. Dr. Foster was like space wrapped in skin, and Darcy likes it. It may have been hard to talk to her for the first few weeks, but eventually they got comfortable with each other. She payed attention to the way her spine felt, but it never tingled.

                George took Angelina to the Yule Ball and Fred took Katie Bell, who didn’t have a mate. It was fun, it really was. But. So many people there had met their mates, including his twin.

                When Darcy hit the big man with Jane’s van, she’s just a week past twenty. For a moment she fears she has killed him. But then he gets up and asks how dare they harm the son of Odin. Her neck prickled and instead of fearing she killed him she feared that they were about to be pulverized by Johnny Bravo. So she tazed him, with her bedazzled top of the line tazer that she had gotten when she went to college. He said his name was Thor, and while she was drooling over how cut he was for a homeless guy she did notice the Jane Foster on his spine, and gave her friend a pointed look.

                Cedric Diggory dies at the end of the twins sixth year. He dies during his seventeenth year, and a boy as good as he deserved far more than that. Angelina starts working in a jewelry shop, the kind owned by a women with a lot of cats who wore tie dye robes. The ministry is denying You Know Who’s return, but you don’t spend four years on the same quidditch team and eating at the same table and sitting in the same common room as Harry Potter and leave thinking he’s an attention seeking liar. She stops buying the prophet.

                Darcy Lewis has seen a man once called a god die, and she has seen him come back. She has seen her friend look for him, but also for her storm. She has seen aliens pour out of the sky, from hundreds of miles away.

                Fred and George had a bustling business going in the seventh floor bathroom going. They also had an old half dead place to call a home, their real one abandoned. They had three brothers and a sister. Bill, Charlie, Ron, and Ginny. That was all. That Weasley prat at the ministry? Didn’t know him. He sounded like a right wanker though. The twins had mates; one met, one not. They have no place on the quidditch team, but they are members of Dumbledore’s Army. They almost didn’t have a dad, but Harry Potter came through for them. Again. So, when Dumbledore leaves, they decide they don’t want a place at the school anymore. Not with Umbridge running things. They used their dramatic departure as both rebellion and free advertisement.

                They stayed at Angelina’s flat that night, and a few after. Their mum was wild over what they’d done.

                Darcy went where Jane went. She could finish her degree online. London was nice. A little sad feeling, but nice. She loved Ian’s accent. When Jane goes missing she waits. An hour. She’s worried, she’s had the kids looking. Two hours. She’s scared. Jane might not have her inhaler, she’s forgetful about taking care of herself. Three hours. She’s panicking. But Jane wouldn’t want her to call the cops. Four hours, Ian’s saying the police should be called. Five hours, she’s frantic, calling Jane’s phone every thirty seconds. Six hours, she calls the police. She sees her friend alive and with the nice hunky space alien who saved everyone in a small town in New Mexico.

                Darcy Lewis got left on Earth, so she called everyone. She called every official number, she called agents who had flirted numbers, she called the janitor. No one was picking up. On the news, something was happening with Iron Man. On the news, something was happening with Captain America and Black Widow and SHIELD. Darcy stopped calling.

                The war was filling into every inch, every breath was worry and fear and your ears turned toward every hushed ‘did you hear’. The twins drove it back. They filled their corner of Diagon Alley with as much light and joy as possible.

                Darcy has seen heroes, real true heroes. She has seen aliens pour out of the sky, in person. She has pushed back at them, in her own small way. But Thor didn’t make that bridge collapse, and they’re pretty sure it wasn’t the aliens either. But... people died, and with SHIELD down, blown wide open, nobody wants to say anything. They blame the weather and the bridge and the ‘hurricane’ on the aliens.

                Fred and George hear from their dad that the muggles are blaming everything on an alien invasion. They don’t really know what to make of it, especially when they find out there were actual aliens. Again. When Percy visits with the minister, Fred hits his glasses with a spoonful of mashed parsnips.

                When Mad Eye proposes his plan to sneak Harry away, the twins sign on immediately. Fred flies with his dad and George flies with Lupin, thinking of a girl making a necklace at her kitchen table, waiting for his ‘I’m safe’ owl. When George is hit, he is paying attention to what is surrounding him, he is fighting back, his mind on the task. When Fred sees his twin on the couch, his heart stops. And then George says he feels saint like, and his heart restarts, beating at the same time as his twin’s.

                There is still magic in the world, Darcy knows. It’s in telescopes and Ipods and hearts.

                Fred starts saying safety first on the radio. George starts wondering how he’s going to figure out a ring for a girl who makes and sells jewelry for a living.

                When Voldemort falls, George turns in the courtyard to look at his twin. Fred looks back. Angelina finds them later. She’s been sitting with Alicia. They’ve been sitting with Katie, who didn’t have a mate. You only get one if you’re going to meet them.

                Darcy was in London, again. This time it was a fundraiser to fix the damages of the whole alien fiasco. She was in her nice new purple evening gown, walking out on the street. She had slipped away from the party and was standing outside a big bookstore, wondering if it had anything good. A young man, red hair, strange leather coat, seemed to slip out from nowhere, and not looking where he was going, he walked right into her. Their spines tingled as they righted themselves.

                Darcy Lewis always knew there was magic in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

                Ron Weasley was the only one in his family to have more than one soulmate.   Hannah Abbott and पार्वती पाटिल, Parvati Patil, shared his spine, laying there parallel to each other.  His mother raised her eyebrows, but didn’t mind.  Two names meant that he would live to meet not one, but two people.  It was reassuring.  They were both pureblood families, not that either Molly or Arthur cared.  They wrote a letter to the Parvatis, and waited for Mrs. Abbott to have her baby girl.  They waited.  They sent the letters.  They didn’t bring the children together.  If they hadn’t met, then they could still live.  Death eaters couldn’t snatch them from the sky.  A stray hex couldn’t hit them in the marketplace.  If you’ve been given a soulmate, you’ll live to meet them, no matter what.               

                Ron grew up underfoot, out of mind.  The sixth child, a sigh of disappointment before his mother finally got a girl.  The only thing that he had that was new was the two soulmates.  At least, that was what he believed.  Everything he does will always have already been done.  Except.  Except, he is the first brother, the only child, to have two mates.  He wanted to meet them, but he was scared to disappoint.  They would wish they had gotten roguish Bill, or daring Charlie, or brilliant Percy, or the funny twins.  Hell, even Ginny, the favorite child.

                The days leading up to his first day at Hogwarts, he sulked with his parents.  He snapped at Ginny.  He told the twins to go do something to goats.  They weren’t going to want him.  He wouldn’t make any friends.  They’d send him back.  He’d be a hufflepuff, or worse, a slytherin.

                At the station, he felt his back prickle, but didn’t look.  

At the station, Ron met a scared boy.  A scarred boy.  He met a legend, dressed in oversized clothes.  Ron’s eyes ran down to the hems of his jeans, which were frayed.  His shirt sleeves were rolled up several times.  Ron looked the savior of the wizarding world over, and knew he was wearing hand me down clothes, just like his. 

                On the train, Ron met a bossy girl, who was helping Neville find his toad.  He met a nobody, who already wore her robes.  She was ready for his world to be her world, and Ron wasn’t sure he was ready to do anything but toss his lunch. 

                On the train, Harry Potter was already being his friend.

At Hogwarts, about to go into the great hall, Ron felt his back prickle.  Ahead of him, two identical Indian girls were looking at him and whispering quickly to each other.  He stared at his shoes. 

                Hannah Abbott was the first one up.  Ron felt as though he couldn’t breathe.  She was pink faced, and had blonde pigtails, and she stumbled when she stepped forward.  He willed himself not to puke in front of everyone. 

                “HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.  Oh.  She was hufflepuff. 

                He watched and waited, both grateful it wasn’t his turn and wishing to get it over with.  He felt like the rest of his life was being decided, and it sort of was.

                Finally, the Patil twins.  Her sister went first, to Ravenclaw.   Then her.  She walked to the stool and sat straight backed as the hat slipped over her eyes. 

                “GRYFFINDOR!” it shouted, and Ron felt his heart lift, and then immediately sink again.  What would Parvati think of him if they weren’t in the same house?  What would Hannah?

                Harry went next, and the world held its breath.  “GRYFFINDOR.”

Ron focused hard on being brave.  He did not want to be hufflepuff, refused to consider slytherin.  He knew that he wasn’t clever enough for ravenclaw.  He wanted to be just like his family.  He wanted to be the tallest brother.  He wanted to be brave enough for this. 

                The hat slipped over his eyes, and his last sight was not Parvati, not Hannah, not Harry.  Not even the Granger girl.  It was Draco Malfoy, eleven years old and already smirking.  Ron grit his teeth.  Gryffindor or going home.

                “That’s a very cut and dry thing to say.”  The hat murmured.  “I’d offer you slytherin, even hufflepuff.  You have the ambition, the makings of a great strategist, the loyalty.  But you don’t value it nearly as much as you value bravery. Hmmm.  I guess that settles it.  But before we part, a word of advice?  The house of the lion isn’t the only house that’s worthwhile.  Now, let’s keep things moving.  GRYFFINDOR!” 

                Ron opened his eyes as the lions house roared its approval.  He gulped, and told himself to be brave as he stood up.  He was going to need it. 

                Parvati Patil was born with two English names on her spine.  Her sister had another foreigner, far away and never heard of.  They’re parents nodded, and waited for the girl to be born, before writing both their parents.  They wouldn’t bring their children within five miles of Europe however, not with you-know-who and his followers running about.  No, they stayed in Varanasi.  The magic district of the city was old, so old that you could see the magic, hazy in the air.  It shimmered over the people’s heads, like a mirage.   It did that almost no other place on earth, they said.

                The girls went to school with other wixen, Parvati playing broom cricket while Padma sat in the shade and read.   The laundry that hung over their heads was always bright, and washed both with flicks of wands and by hand in the Ganges.  It was Padma who told Parvati that it was one of the most polluted rivers in the world, but Parvati who grinned and got in anyway. Padma rolled her eyes and didn’t get in that day, but she did the next. 

                The last day she lived by the river, she went and drank from it, early in the morning, dragging Padma down to the ghat.  There were already people praying and bathing, and their parents had said goodbye the night before.   Parvati pulled her twin in with her, and tugged her hair out of its braids, Padma doing the same for her.  Parvati might have been louder about her feelings, but Padma felt just as sincerely as she did.  -

                Foreigners got sick from the river, but not them.  The river was cleansing, and Parvati didn’t know how they were supposed to be cleansed of impurities in England.  She dunked herself under the water, Padma doing the same.  They held hands the whole time, and when they were soaking wet, they drank.  They cupped their hands and filled their bellies.  They wanted to carry home with them, as far as they could.  

                They walked farther into the district than ever before, filling their lungs with the hazy magic air.  They slipped back into their home before their parents, busy with packing, realized where they had gone. 

                England was cold, and wet, and green.  The twins preferred Varansasi.  It didn’t matter, at nine years old, they moved from the magic district to a street, which was technically muggle.  Technically muggle, but no muggles to be found.  They were on the next street over, but this small cluttered lane was theirs.  Parvati looked around for her mates, looked for the boy and girl she had seen in the pictures their mothers sent, but never saw them.

                At the station, she felt her back prickle, but couldn’t see through the crowd.  

                On the train, she met a girl named Lavender Brown, but she held her sister’s hand for bravery, all the way to Hogwarts. 

                At the school, she saw him.  She saw the boy.  She saw Ron Weasley.   Her sister whispered that he is even taller than the pictures, and what are you going to do with a boy that pale when you bring him home to India?

                The sorting was not what she is afraid of.  Padma and her had decided a long time ago.  She would be the brave one, Padma the smart one. 

                When Hannah Abbott was called, Parvati prepared her hands to clap, and clap hard.  It didn’t matter what the hat said. 

                “HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat shouted, and she clapped until her hands stung.  Padma went before her.  “RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted, and she clapped until her hands stung.  You don’t stop loving people just because they are more curious than brave.

                When the hat slipped over her eyes, she spoke first.  ‘Gryffindor, now.’ 

                “Eager, eh?  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be with your sister? You’re creative enough to make it as a Ravenclaw.”  He offered.

                ‘I’d rather be where I truly fit than with Padma.  Gryffindor, now.’

                “GRYFFINDOR!” he shouted.  She tried not to let the regret settle in her bones, as she sat at a separate table than her sister.  She knew she had been right.  Ravenclaw would have been the cowards choice. 

                Hannah Abbott was born with two soulmates.  Ron Weasley and पार्वती पाटिल, Parvati Patil, lay next to each other.   Hannah’s earliest memory was watching her first house burn down.  The death eaters did it, enraged over her muggleborn mother and pureblood father. 

                She never quite outgrew her jitters, she just learned to compensate for her shaking hands.  She liked to help things grow.  She wanted to be bigger than what she was. 

                In church, they talked about how Jesus was selfless and charitable and honest and hardworking.  They did not say brave, they did not say cunning, they barely brushed on wise.  But they said he was patient and fair.  Hannah, tiny, decided that this was what she wanted to be. 

                Hannah grew up with a bible in her pocket, but also a guide to growing roses.  She was more than one thing. 

                At the station, she felt her spine prickle, but kept her eyes steady on her ravenclaw mother and Gryffindor father. 

                On the train, an older blonde boy helped her with her trunk, and found her a compartment with two boys already in it.  Chubby Ernie offered her a chocolate frog, and told her he collected. 

                At the school, her back prickled, but she pretended it was nerves.  She tried for calmness, but felt only queasy.  The cross she wore under her robes seemed to move with her beating heart. 

                Under the hat, she waited. 

                “Oh, you’re easy.  No challenge here.  Brave, but it seems only brave in doing to the right thing, not brave in its own right. Yes, Helga would have liked you. HUFFLEPUFF!”  Hannah smiled. 

                Hannah Abbott was nervous, and she didn’t bother hiding it.  She did not need to be brave, did not need to seem cunning.  

                Ron Weasley had seen his matches in person now, and didn’t know what to do about either one.  They were both girls, unlike any other he had ever known.  Parvati sat next to him at meals and didn’t say anything when he turned red and just ate more chicken.  She and Lavender chattered on to each other, over his head, across the table. 

                When there was a troll in the dungeon, Parvati kept her eyes open.  Hermione Granger was in the bathroom, crying her eyes out because Parvati’s mate was a jagged edge of insecurity.   Parvati knew this within two months of meeting him.   She shrugged over it.  She could be sharp too, it wasn’t up to her to soften him.  But she kept her eyes open.   So when her mate followed Harry Potter towards the girls bathroom, she followed.  

                Hannah Abbott squeezed her eyes shut when she saw them sneaking away, and made the decision between what was right and what was easy. Hermione Granger offered to study with anyone who was willing to do the work, and she had welcomed the girl who was still crying over professor Snape.  Hannah knew that it was not just loyalty and fairness when things were going well.  She squeezed her eyes shut and followed. 

                Her heart panicked all the way through, but Hannah managed to catch them locking the door, and then the shrill panicked shriek from inside the bathroom.  The troll was big, and Hannah squeezed her eyes shut before she did the only spell that she could think of, a rather weak shield.  When the troll turned on Hermione, trapped against the wall, and swung his club at her, he broke the shield.  But it gave Hermione just enough time to leap out of the way, and for Harry, Ron and Parvati to start distracting it. 

                When the fight was over, Professors Snape, McGonagall, Quirrell, and Sprout ran in, just in time to see the damage but not soon enough to stop it.   

                When Hermione took the blame, they let her.  Hannah was too busy remembering how to breathe and not turn red.  Parvati was struck by the sense that this was a moment, a pivotal one, so she left it alone.  

                When they left the bathroom, all shaking, the professors remained inside to deal with the troll.  Draco Malfoy, alone, stood outside.  He let his eyes drag from Hermione’s dust filled hair to her soaking wet shoes.  He spat some words at her, none of them about blood.   He turned and walked away.  

                Ron and Parvati smiled when they said goodbye to her, and Hermione asked when they would study again.  When Hannah got back to her common rooms, there was no party, but there was Ernie and Justin and Susan, waiting up for her.  They did not ask why she did it.  They were all puffs, after all.  They knew why.  They did ask how. 

                When Ron got back to his common room, he and Harry became friends with Hermione Granger.

                When Parvati got back to her common room, she sat by Lavender and giggled about the nasty things she had called the troll.  For the first night at Hogwarts, she slept without missing her sister.   

                The next time Hermione and Hannah studied together, she dragged Ron and Parvati along.  They sat in the library, and it was Parvati who looked around and smiled. 

                “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Parvati Patil.”  She grinned sharply at Hannah, before she looked at Ron. 

                There was a muffled kicking noise before Ron bit back a yelp and glared at Hermione, before turning back to Hannah. 

                “I’m Ron Weasley.”  He managed. 

                Hannah turned pink.  She wiggled her toes in her shoes. 

                “Hannah Abbott.” 


	9. Chapter 9

               Harry Potter was born as the seventh month died, and his parents managed to clasp hands with Arthur and Molly over their families bonds before they died.  Harry had Ginevra Weasley on his spine, who was not even one hundred days old when her mate was left on a doorstep. 

                Harry lived in the cupboard under the stairs.  He made breakfast, he cleaned, he gardened.  His skin was darker than the Dursley’s, darker than anyone on Privot drive.  What that meant, he did not know.  He had a scar on his forehead, and he didn’t look like any of his family.  He was eight when he discovered the Ginevra Weasley that marked him boldly.  He knew what soulmates were, it just had never occurred to him that he might have one.

                Harry was used to people talking about him as though he wasn’t there.  He was used to people not believing him.  Harry was a boy who made conversation with snakes, a boy forbidden from asking questions. 

                When the letter came, he wondered if it was his mate.  They were the only person he knew who might write him.   They stole it from him.  They didn’t want Harry to have anything, it seemed. 

                Harry was a boy who drew his own birthday cake in dirt.  A boy forbidden his own heritage, on two counts.  Hagrid restored one. 

                At the station, he felt his back tingle.  He had heard about that on TV, and when Vernon and Petunia told their story about meeting in a restaurant.  

                “You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet.”  The red headed mother said.  Ginny? Harry stuttered forward, with the vague thought of introducing himself.  His spine felt like it was pushing him towards her. 

                All he managed to tell her was that he didn’t know how to get onto the platform.  When the twins told their mum who the black haired boy from the station was, it wasn’t because of who Harry had vanquished.  At least, it wasn’t just because of who Harry had vanquished.   Ginny begged to go see him, but her mother told her no.  That maybe they could write to each other, but that this was a very big day for him, and it was better to not make it any scarier. 

                Ginny Weasley was born with the name of a boy on her spine.  Not a savior, not a hero.  A boy, who would be a brave man.  When Ginny was born her Mum cried.  Her Mum cried every time she had a baby.  When she was born in August, it was to a world at war.  Her parents knew her mates family, which was more than they could say for her brothers. They were good people, brave people.  Young and fearless and kind, with a sweet baby boy.   The parents clasped hands, once, over their bond.  That was the last time they saw the Potters.  On November first, Ginny’s match was no longer a sweet baby boy.  He was a savior, a messiah.  His parents were martyrs, canonized in Wixen legend. 

                Ginny had six older brothers, had to shout to be heard.  She was the youngest child of two youngest children.  She knew her mate was with his muggle family.  When her father brought plugs home, she tried to listen.  When she wasn’t allowed to play quidditch with her brothers, she taught herself.  Luna Lovegood lived a few hills over, and they would meet in their shared fields. 

                Ginny, from the age of six to nine, was chronically tired.  She gave up her sleep so that she could fly.  She was the baby of the house, so she went out and did something by herself, for herself.  In peacetime, she was dynamite. 

                Ginny counted months and years until she could get to Hogwarts.  When heard that Harry Potter was going to be in Ron’s year, she begged. 

                When Harry Potter was on the train, when they had stood in the same station and she hadn’t known, she begged.

                When she sat down to write to him like her mother had suggested, she couldn’t think of anything.  Talkative Ginny drew a blank.  She decided to wait until she got to Hogwarts to bother with introductions.  She was still dynamite. 

                She consumed her brother’s letters, not just for word of Harry Potter but also for Hogwarts. 

                The summer before she went to school, she watched her father work on his car.  When Ron started worrying over Harry, she stole the keys and waited. 

                There were four Weasley’s in the flying car the night they rescued Harry.  Suddenly he was tumbling into the car, his trunk and owl with him, his uncle’s hands around his ankles. 

                “By the way, we don’t think you’ve met our sister.”  Fred introduced them, knowing exactly what these children were to each other. 

                When they reached the Burrow, Harry was looking at the house and Ginny was looking at his face.  Ron introduced it as ‘not much’ but Harry said it was wonderful. Ginny smiled.  Yes, she could work with this. 

                She grinned harder when she remembered she would be at Hogwarts with him.  She couldn’t wait for the year ahead.  As far as she could see, everything was going to be wonderful.


	10. Chapter 10

When Draco Malfoy was born, his parents considered sending him away.  His mother wept that her family was cursed, to always be mated to people they could not have.  Hermione Granger, some nobody, traced his spine neatly, prim little letters spelling out his doom. 

The Malfoy’s had no tradition of naming children after the stars, but the Black’s did.  Narcissa considered Sirius and Andromeda’s betrayal, Bella’s madness, Regulus’s shaking hands.  She thought of her own long wait for this child.  She made a guess that there would be no heirs to the house of Black, not to the name at least.  She made a guess that this would be the only Malfoy child.

Draco still grew up as the favored only child, his parents doting on him, house elves at his beck and call.  His parents would not tell him of the dark lord, so he had to ask Pansy.  His parents would not tell him of the name on his back, so he had to ask Pansy.  His parents would not tell him of his mother’s sisters, so he had to ask Pansy.  Pansy did not always have the answer, but she tried.  Draco learned that he did not like not knowing things, but also found that he was frightened to find out about the name that ruined his back.  He was the only legitimate heir to the house of Black, the only heir to the house of Malfoy.  He could not marry any less than pure.  To do so would shame his parents, insult his blood. 

He watched his mother, who walked as though she was ice, and his father, and how people jumped out of his way.  He tried to walk like them, but swaggered instead.  He watched his mother, who could perform emotions at the drop of a hat, and his father, who never let his emotions rest on his face.  He tried to act like them, but kept pulling faces. 

Pansy told him that she had listened, and watched, and guessed, and had figured his parents had followed the dark lord.   Draco was a boy who watched everything his parents did, wanted everything his parents wanted.

Draco was not his parents, no matter how hard he tried. He could not erase the name from his back.   But he could make them proud. He could play quidditch, study well, look good.  The most important thing to do would be getting into slytherin.  Pansy and he were in agreement, it was the house of the snakes for them. 

When it was time for Hogwarts, his parents considered sending him away, but his mother could not stand it.  He might have been someone else entirely.

The world moves for a mother’s love.  

His Hogwarts robes were fine, well cut, with charms sewn into the pockets.  His father bought him an emerald green cloak, and the message was clear. 

Harry Potter was a quiet boy in a robe maker’s shop.  Draco was a frightened boy in a robe maker’s shop.  He always overcompensated.  He was so scared he would see his mate, so scared he would not be able to resist, so scared it would take him from his family. 

On the train to Hogwarts, Pansy met her mate.  Blaise Zambini was a nice boy, quiet and proud and a good enough blood.  Draco envied Pansy and her luck. 

Draco was ambitious, cunning and arrogant.  Harry Potter was someone to get to know.  He never had someone refuse his handshake.  Harry Potter was not someone to get to know.  Harry Potter was a halfbreed fool, who didn’t know what was good for him.   Draco fumed that he didn’t want to be friends with anyone stupid enough to hang out with a Weasley.   

As they left the compartment, Draco’s spine tingled.  He did not look. 

Hermione Granger had Draco Malfoy on her back.  Her parents thought privately that it was a funny name, but still rather grand.  They had wanted to name her Eleanor, after the doomed sorceress, but thought better.  Their daughter should have a name just as dramatic as her mate. 

Names are dangerous, they reveal. 

Taunts were a part of Hermione’s childhood, taunts and name calling and calls home to her parents about how Hermione just didn’t seem to be as socially advanced as her peers.  Never mind that they were cruel to her, never mind that she was leaps and bounds ahead of everyone.  Books floated off the shelves for her, big dense tomes and fairy tales. 

When Professor Flitwick came to the door, she asked for proof. 

Hermione had never been a girl for blind faith. 

Her parents filled her room with every book she asked for.  Their daughter had been given a new world, the least they could do was prepare her.  Shadows under her eyes became an accepted part of her face. 

Now she knew the name Malfoy.  She bought every book she could on the Pure families, on death eaters.  Her soulmate came from a family that might hate her. A family that almost certainly did.

She shook her way through the train ride, knees trembling the whole way.  Her spine tingled everywhere she went and she craned her head for him but did not call his name. 

The hat names him a snake and she berates herself for thinking he might be different from every other bully she had ever met.  Jewish autistic girls with names as big as their hair never fly under a playground bully’s radar, ever.  

Books and cleverness are good, but they’ve never kept her warm.  The hat said she was a lion.  It told her that in this world, a bit of faith was needed.  

She met Draco Malfoy quickly enough. She wondered if it was possible to have an enemy as a soulmate, but no matter how many books she searched through, none were mentioned. She did not know it, but the headmaster would have had an answer for her.  

He waited for her outside of the bathroom, after the troll. 

“Well at least you can outsmart a troll.” Was all he had spat at her before he walked away, and she hated him, she did, but it was almost a compliment. 

She still punched him.   


End file.
